


Scent me your secrets

by MiaaMaay



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha Hank Anderson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, I don't know how else to tag that honestly, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rutting, Scenting, Secondary Gender Fluidity Connor, Temporary Blind!Connor, primarily Omega Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-17 05:31:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16968567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaaMaay/pseuds/MiaaMaay
Summary: It has always been easier to read the mood from the alpha’s scent rather than interpreting his words and features. His temporary loss of sight and a minor accident might prove just how much Hank was trying to hide from him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I thought that this Fandom needs some more A/B/O and some more pun-y titles! So here we go!

The last thing he’d seen was Hank’s shocked face, peeking over the edge of the rooftop as Connor was falling before everything went dark. He thought he’d died that moment, consumed by nothingness, an empty void.

Turned out, only his visual chip had gotten a crack. Rendering him blind for the time being and explaining why he couldn’t see even though he knew that he had his eyes wide open.

The suspect he’d been chasing on another wild goose chase across the rooftops of Detroit had inevitably escaped, and the lecture he had gotten from Hank for his  _ recklessness _ and  _ lack of obedience _ when the man had reached him, dragging with him a thick cloud of worry and exasperation, had an unusual high count of profanities. Some of them obviously made up in the heat of the moment.

All in all, Connor has gotten away mildly considering he’d fallen three stories, landing on the hard concrete of the sidewalk. He has suffered a crack to the back of his head, nothing that needed repair, but the motor function of his right arm was a little compromised as a result. He’d called himself lucky – until the moment they had been ordered into Fowlers glassen office at the precinct where he had to endure yet  _ another _ lecture about safety on the job. He had to imagine the deep scowl on the Captains face since he hadn’t actually been able to see him.

\---

“So what, we have to wait a whole  _ week  _ until you get your thing?” Hank asks grumbling, guiding Connor with a hand on his lower back inside their shared home.

“The replacement component, yes. I’m still only a prototype, most components I was provided with are unique and not obtainable at regular repair shops. That’s why we had to send a request to CyberLife and given the already strict laws concerning repairs for androids, a week isn’t really that long.” Connor explains, taking a deep breath as soon as they are inside.

The smell of what he labeled as  _ home _ wafts over his nose, and he feels his shoulders relax considerably, the stress of the day ebbing away in an instant. He crouches down when he hears heavy footsteps approaching and happily welcomes the monstrous dog with open arms and the warm, wet tongue on his face. He may be temporarily blind, but he hasn’t lost his sense of hearing, nor his sense of smell.

“Hello Sumo.” Connor grins as he buries his face into the soft fur. He smells the very same nuances in the thick pelt, making him love the gentle giant a tad more.  “I’ve missed you too.”

The Alpha steps around them, throwing his jacket over either the armrest or back of the couch from the sound of it.

“C’mon, I’m gonna get you something to change into.” Hank grumbles, obviously still a little upset.

“There’s no need for that.” Connor says, giving Sumo a last pat to the head before standing up.

“You don’t want to spend the rest of the day in your suit, do you?”

“No, but what I mean is that you don’t have to do that for me. I should be able to navigate with no difficulties as I have all the rooms mapped out.”

To prove his statement, he moves around Sumo and the spot Hank was supposedly standing before taking a turn down the hall towards the bedroom. Five and a half steps in, he turns left and opens the bedroom door, setting his hand on the door handle with precision.

“Wait what? Like a map or what?” Hank asks perplexed as he follows the android.

“More like a ground plan. It was easy enough to create from my memories.” Connor explains. He scurries out of his clothes minus his boxer briefs before folding them neatly onto the single chair in the corner of the room, all too aware that Hank was most likely watching him. He imagines the man leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, blue eyes following his every move. Something warm settles inside of him.

“Huh. And here I thought I’d have to carry you around all the time. You sure you’re alright though?”

Standing in front of the large wardrobe, he feels out one of Hank’s hoodie and sweatpants he’d become used to lending and quickly puts them on before turning towards the older man, arms spread.

“I’m fine.” Connor smiles confidently.

“Well…” Hank huffs a laugh. “If you say so. But uh, if I were you, I’d check that hoodie again.”

The Deviant frowns and pats his top, only to find it being put on backwards, with the hood at his front. He struggles out the oversized piece of clothing, all the while hearing Hank low chuckle and retreating footsteps.

\---

As predicted, he is still able to be useful at the precinct, working through all the paperwork Hank neglected to do. The downsides are that he isn’t able to accompany his partner on the field and having to endure Detective Reed’s snarky comments whenever the Alpha comes in. He also learns that Sumo could be quite sneaky if he wants to be and apparently loves to make him trip at any given chance. Connor had to accept with a pout that he couldn’t cook for Hank that week, which Hank used shamelessly as a free pass to order pizza almost every single night.

However, all things considered, it is an intriguing experience. He has increased his audio and olfactory input sensitivity to compensate for his lack of visual input, noting with masked amusement how easy it is to read the man’s true meanings despite the Alpha’s contradicting words. Like that time Hank vehemently denied having eaten the cream pie in one sitting that should’ve at least lasted another day, blaming Sumo instead. The heavy scent of amusement, satisfaction and the lack of guilt however had told the android enough.

He was happy to discover that his heightened senses also enable him to fully take apart the different nuances of the Alpha’s natural odor. The older man’s scent had always been more muted than others as far as Connor could tell, a lack of pheromones even in stressful or strenuous situations. A common effect caused by emotional trauma, however not exclusive to alpha males. And Connor knew the actuator all too well.

He always tries to scent the air as subtle as he can in his position, not knowing where Hank was actually facing and guessing that Hank wouldn’t take to it too kindly, most likely finding it weird. So instead, he quietly, secretly delves into the hints of smoky leather and dark chocolate, pine trees and the distinct smell of Sumo glued to his skin. Satisfying an urge from deep inside he could neither place nor understand yet.

Four days after his fall and the resulting loss of sight, he finds himself cuddled up with a soft, fluffy blanket on the sofa, listening to a movie playing on the old TV while Hank is munching on yet another pizza he had ordered. The smell of cheese, pepperoni and chili is strong, but Connor is concentrating on the balm to his mind that is the alpha’ content scent. He has his eyes closed even with it not making any difference, however subjectively it helps him concentrate. Gradually he leans closer, inch by inch, closer to the Alpha, hoping to get a better taste of the alluring scent, when suddenly a loud, metallic and rattling sound interrupts their peace. Connor blinks his eyes open, confused, trying to think of what could have made that noise. Hank has obviously heard it too. Connor can feel Hank shift in his spot, probably looking at him with raised brows.

“Was that you?” Hank asked.

“I think so.”

Just to make sure, Connor leans to the other side and soon enough, the very same rattle, accompanied by a loud  _ clank _ told him that something has rolled around inside of him into another corner.

“You got a loose screw or something?”

Connor could hear the smirk in the man’s voice, which tugs a smile onto the Deviant’s lips.

“It does appear that something might have come loose, yes.”

A moment of silence stretches between them where Connor tries to think of how best to proceed. His system doesn’t alert him of another broken component, so it might be a minor part that didn’t want to be connected to him anymore. However each time he moves even an inch, the thing whatever-it-is rattles around annoyingly. At least he can pinpoint it down to somewhere in his abdomen area. He could try and blindly fondle around in his chassis, hoping to find the piece, but his midsection contains delicate wiring and lubrication containers he doesn’t necessarily want to dislodge. Hank squirms beside him.

“So uh…should we get you to a shop? How bad is it?”

“No… I don’t think so.” Connor replied, the scent of worry making his nose itch. He pushes away his blanket to superficially pat along his abdomen above his hoodie. “I could try and get it out myself or wait until my replacement component arrives, so I can actually  _ see  _ what I am doing. It’s only three days…” He shifts. Another  _ rattle _ .

There’s a beat of silence before Hank takes a deep breath as if to mentally prepare himself for whatever comes out of his mouth next.

“If you want- I mean, I’m not a technician or anything – hell,  _ far  _ from it – but if you  _ want  _ I could take uh, a look.” Hank stammers awkwardly.

“I appreciate that you’re willing to help, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” Hank asked, probably sporting a frown or a raised eyebrow.

“Yes. I know that my ‘android-traits’” he says, air quotes heavily suggested and Hank snorts, “are still an issue for you. I doubt you would like to have my insides at full display.” Connor finishes, looking in the general direction of Hank’s face.

“Fucking hell Connor, it’s  _ weird  _ ok, but not in a  _ bad _ way. Nothing I can handle. It’s just…  _ weird _ weird. In a kinda nice way.”

“Thanks for the clarification, Lieutenant.” Connor replies dryly.

“It’s the same kind of weird like right now, with you looking me straight in the eye, as if you can actually  _ see _ me. Or that you don’t have a scent like –  _ at all _ . Can’t get a bloody read on you. And I’m not quite convinced that you aren’t just fucking with me here.” Hank huffs.

“I assure you, Hank, you could be pulling faces at me and I would be none the wiser.” he grins, and after a beat, “You  _ are _ pulling faces right now, aren’t you?”

“What? Me?  _ Nooo _ .”

The movement transferred through the couch would have been enough, but the sunny warm smell of the man’s delight was proof enough. Connor leans back, another  _ rattle clank _ filling the brief pause.

“So?”

Connor hums. “If you feel confident, I will let you try to find the origin of the noise.”

_ Clank rattle thud. _

And if Connor has chosen his words to appeal to the Alpha’s pride, no one has to know. He honestly  _ is _ curious to how Hank would react seeing what lay underneath his synthetic skin. He had only ever gotten glimpses of his true nature – not counting other androids that have been at display. A scratch with trickling thirium here or interfacing with another android there and the LED still decorating the Deviant’s temple marking him as non-human, but nothing more. Hank had, intentionally or not, humanized him from the very beginning, even in times where he had called him  _ plastic prick  _ or other supposed insults. It would be interesting, if risky, to see if showing him more than his blue blood would be a step closer or away from their ever-growing friendship.

“ _ Confident _ . Pft. I can be confident in everything and still suck at it, so there’s that. I’m more concerned with… ahm. Like – I can’t actually  _ break  _ you, right?”

That actually makes the android chuckle. “I have fallen from thirty feet onto concrete, I have been shot on multiple occasions. I am ninety-nine percent sure that you won’t break me, Hank.”

“Well, what a way to boost my confidence there, Connor…”

“I thought you had enough of that?” Connor smirks.

“Shut up and lay down already, you sassy bastard!”

The weight beside him lifts as Hank stands up and Connor quickly pulls off his hoodie – or rather Hank’s hoodie, but technicalities – folding it in half before hanging it over the back of the worn couch. His nose catches a hint of  _ something  _ he can’t quite place, something rich, but it soon is being drowned out by a wave of apprehension. Connor reaches out, lucky to bump against the other man’s hand, and squeezes it assuring.

“It’ll be alright. Don’t worry. You can’t hurt me. You can’t break me. Just figure out what is making that noise, it shouldn’t be hard to find.”

He lays down, the obnoxious noise following his movement. Large hands guide his legs onto the couch and the android puts one of the throw pillows under his head.

“Are you ready?” Connor asks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. Uh _.  _ do I need to wash my hands or something?”

Connor puffs out a soft laugh. “I can’t get an infection, Lieutenant.”

He can tell that that eases some of the man’s concerns. The Deviant places a hand on his now bare chest, the synthetic skin quickly receding from the center into a rectangular shape across his whole midsection. Pulling open the chassis, he can hear Hank suck in a breath. He can only imagine the sight Hank must be confronted with. At the very top lays his pump regulator, glowing blue from the activated thirium that is being pumped through his body in a steady rhythm, essentially keeping him alive similar to the heart of a human. It is surrounded by various cables, some for thirium, some electric wires connecting various components, sending signals back and forth with inhuman speed.

Seconds tick by, the sound of the movie still running in the background on a low volume the only noise Connor can make out. As his inner clock turns another minute, Connor becomes suspicious.

“Hank…?” Squirming a bit on the spot, he was about to close his chassis again when Hank finally springs into action.

“Right- yeah. Right. Holy shit. I need more light for this, wait a second! Don’t move!” he barks before heavy footsteps rush across the wooden floor.

Connor had no intention to move at all, but he relaxes some more into the soft material of the couch as he listened to Hank shuffling around the room. He hears the faint click of the switch for the top light, and a second later Hank is by his side once again.

“Okay, okay. Sorry I just- well. I mean, I have seen  _ pictures _ , and that one Tracie, but-”

“It’s okay, Hank.”

“Okay. So. I’m gonna touch you now, okay? Gotta move some wires out of the way, can’t see shit what’s in the back.”

“Alright.” Connor takes an unnecessary breath and closes his eyes, keeping his arms by his sides, his fingers twiddling with the seams of his sweatpants.

The first touch still catches him by surprise, a soft gasp escaping his lips before he could stop it. Hank flinches away as if burned.

“What? What did I do??” he asks, mildly panicked.

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I was just… unprepared. Please continue.”

“Holy shit, don’t tell me you can actually  _ feel _ that?”

“Yes, but only in a very basic way. I can’t really tell  _ where  _ you touch me, only that you do. It doesn’t hurt, if that’s what you are concerned with.”

He hears the man grumble something under his breath but can’t make out the words even with his heightened sensory input.

“Alright, here goes nothing. I’m gonna touch you again.”

This time Connor is prepared and keeps his mouth shut at the first touch. It feels strange at first, having someone else other than himself rummaging around his most sensitive parts. He trusts Hank, trusts him with his life, and the careful pulls and tugs only show that Hank would never deliberately try to hurt him. Not that he could feel actual pain, but that’s beside the point.

“I fear you’ve got some cracks here and there, and it does appear like there’s.. I don’t know. It’s like a tube and it has cracks, and it appears kind of wobbly in its bracket.” Hank says, concentration straining his voice somewhat, making it low and growly.

“Describe it to me. There are various ‘tubes’, as you describe it, so I can decide if it’s important or not. Does it have a label?”

“Yeah, but it’s turned away. Gimme a sec, I try and turn it. There’s actually, like, a row of tubes but only the one on the very right has cracks.”

A hand is placed on his thigh as Hank shifts his weight to possibly try and rotate the tube as carefully as he can.

“Almost got it. The others are labeled with bold letters.”

“What letters?” Connor inquired.

“The left one has only an ‘A’ on it, the one beside it ‘AR’, then ‘N’, the other has a zero or an ‘O’ and the far right… ”

_ Oh no. _

“Oh no.”

He actually  _ feels _ the tube crumble between Hank’s fingers, a resounding crack drowning out the noises from the TV.

“Fuck- Shit,  _ fuck _ ! I think I broke it! Was that import-” he stops, his words cut off by a choked gasp.

Connor knew exactly what  _ tubes _ Hank meant. Containing the high concentrate of all secondary genders – the one on the far right, now broken, labeled ‘OH’. Suddenly, Connor was hit in the face with the scent of  _ Omega in Heat _ , rapidly consuming the air between and around them. He hears a crash to his left; the sound of the table scaping noisily over the floor and something or  _ someone _ slumping onto its surface.

“Hank…??” Connor asked unsure, facing in the direction of the sound. The answering growl set his wires on fire.

He hurriedly closes the lid of his chassis, hoping to contain some of the scent, but the spilled liquid had the intensity of a hundred omegas at the peak of their heat, cramped up in a small room with no ventilation.

“Hank, we can wash it off. Water binds the substance. I’m- I’m going to wash it off, alright? Just stay put.” Connor scrambles to his feet, but the low, deep growl has him freezing in place. He stares wide-eyed in the direction where it has come from, a jolt rushing up his spine, his cheeks flushing involuntarily. He hears movement and suddenly he was scooped up in strong arms, bride-style, before he can feel them hurrying down the hall. He slings his arms around Hanks neck as he’s being carried off. Left or right, bedroom or bathroom. He can’t decide what’s more likely, doesn’t have enough data to predict the older man at the mercy of his instincts. Hank turns right and shoulders, or rather  _ barges _ open the bathroom door with a force that had the door crack and splinter. Connor was quickly but gently placed into the cream-colored tub and the hard, ceramic surface cold against his skin. The sound of Hank’s ragged breath rung clear in his ears, open mouth pants. It is a miracle that Hank isn’t all over him, forcing him into submission and fuck him single-mindedly – and for the life of him Connor can’t decide if he prefers this or not.

A shocked gasp escapes his lips as the cold stream from the showerhead from above comes to life, drenching him within seconds. He opened his chassis again, claws at the ridges to get it open. Another wave of the indescribably strong scent of heat escapes, but the rush of water quickly absorbs most of it. Connor struggles in his spot, trying to reach for the showerhead but not being able to reach it.

“Hank – give me, please, I need-”

A feral snarl erupted to his right, having him once again freeze in place before the wanted appendage was pushed into his open hand.

“Thank you.” Connor breathed and rolled over, positioning himself onto his knees and free hand so he could properly spray the cold water upwards and into the opening, flushing out the liquid essence covering his insides.

“You can’t- not on your  _ knees _ \- oh god,  _ Connor _ !” Hank half moans, half groans, as a hand pushes into the Deviant’s hair and pulls him up and over towards him. Connor feels teeth at the base of his throat, the junction between his neck and shoulder, the common place for a mating bite. The teeth scrape over his delicate skin, accompanied by another deep, animalistic growl that has the android shudder pleasantly in response. Connor doesn’t move, knows it wouldn’t be wise and just let the alpha work out the hormone rush on his own. Keeping the stream of water steadily directed at his components. He takes a deep breath through nose and mouth, the heat scent slowly subsiding and instead opening up for the thick, heady scent of  _ alpha arousal _ . So strong it is almost tangible on his tongue. It is an earthy, undulated scent, oh so  _ enthralling _ , calling to him like a song. Connor shouldn’t be affected by it at all, he is an android, but he can’t deny its effects.

“Hank...” Connor says quietly with a soft whine, only to have the hand in his hair tug sharply, baring his throat and making him gasp. He presses his eyes shut.

“Don’t  _ talk! _ ” Hank rumbles dangerously into his ear, giving his shoulder a sharp nip that makes the android yelp in surprise.

Goosebumps erupt over his uncovered arms, a function he isn’t quite sure why he even has it, making him shudder pleasantly. The hand gripping onto his short strands slowly loose, only to clamp down onto the back of his neck. His body goes slack, slightly slumping in on itself like any omega usually would. But instead of instincts telling him to submit to the alpha, it’s the bundle of tender wiring and the port at the back of his neck. He clutches to the edge of the bathtub with his free hand to keep his balance. The older man nuzzles against his neck, the side of his throat, the rough scratch of his beard accompanying every move, adding to the sensation. Connor is tempted, as irrational as it is, to release some of the regular scent of Omega from his synthetic scent glands Hank is currently fixated on. It would be like spilling oil into fire, stoking the already alit forest. It would only worsen their situation, ripping Hank’s respectable self-control to pieces. And Connor wants to do exactly that. He doesn’t know exactly why, but the prospects of what might come of it if he  _ does  _ seem more than inviting.

Releasing the scent neutralizer is a conquest of its own, but Connor knows it’s the right decision.

It takes another five or so minutes for the intermittent growling to quiet down, for the vice grip on his neck to lift. Hank keeps his hand on the Deviant’s neck, massaging the skin in slow circles with his thumb. How Connor wishes he could see the expression on the alpha face, mouth hanging open, nostrils flaring and eyes swallowed up by black, blown pupils.

“Are you alright…?” Connor asks quietly, eventually breaking the charged silence between them, panting slightly.

Hank clears his throat, the hand on the android’s neck venturing down his spine before slipping back up in a soft caress.

“Yeah..” Hank croaks, his voice rough and still so incredibly low, sending another gush of goosebumps over the Deviant’s body. “‘guess so. Don’t think I can leave yet, though…” he adds with another, short growl, briefly tightening his palm over Connor’s neck before letting it drag back down onto its former trail. Connor leans into the touch with a soft sight. “Care to explain what the fuck that just was?”

“I do think it would be appropriate.” Hank snorts. “You have accidentally destroyed a capsule containing highly concentrated essence of the omega secondary gender’s scent. To be precise, the scent of  _ omega in heat _ .”

Hank groans, leaning his forehead against Connor’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I figured as much. Hit me like a freight train. Why the ever-loving  _ fuck  _ do you even  _ have _ something like that?”

“For interrogation purposes.”

_ “Interrogation purposes?!”  _ Hank repeats, unbelieving.

“Yes. It is known that humans are subjected to their instincts when confronted with certain scents. Depending on the situation, it is, for example, easier for an alpha to get answers from an omega. Is physical abuse an issue, it may be easier for an omega to open up to another omega.”

“So what, you adapt your scent depending on the case, depending on the victim?”

“Correct.” He didn’t tell Hank that it also was intended to get answers from supposed suspects, in whatever way would work best.

“How come I haven’t noticed any of that on you before?” Hank inquires, voice rumbling while kneading his thumb into a spot just below the Deviant’s shoulder blade, causing his system to sputter for a moment. “Connor?”

“Uhm. Granted, it isn’t supposed to be used in any excessive quantity as you have experienced just now. And I haven’t actually used any of it yet.”

“Really? Why?”

“There hasn’t been a reason to. Our cases have always only involved other deviants. It wouldn’t have any effect on them. However, I considered using it on you.” Hank’s hand stops, a small pout sprouting on Connor’s lips as a result.

“But you haven’t?”

“No. There was a fifty percent chance of it only irritating and aggravating you further. So I kept my scent neutral.”

“Huh.” Hank hums thoughtfully. “Probably the right decision.” His hand continued its path, calloused hand following the curve of his shoulder down his arm until it stops on his wrist, rubbing soothing circles on the underside with his thumb. Connor didn’t mind – quite the contrary. The alpha’s mind appears to have cleared, there are no more low rumbles coming from his direction, but a mild hint of arousal remains in the air between them.

“So that’s what the letters are for? I guess ‘O’ stands for Omega, ‘OH’ for Omega Heat. Then Alpha? Alpha.. Rut?  _ Urgh _ . Glad we didn’t have to go through  _ that _ . What’s the ‘N’ stand for though?”

“Neutralizer.”

“Oh. Right. Makes sense.” he says thoughtfully, possibly even nodding slightly as he uses to do. Connor hums in agreement. The thumb still running circles into his wrist is getting distracting, but he doesn’t mind trading some of his attention.

He puts the spray away and shuts off the water, leaving him dripping wet and kneeling in the tub. He leans forward to get rid the excessive water in his hair, only to hear a loud, metallic  _ clunk  _ echoing through the now silent bathroom. Something has fallen into the tub.

“You gotta be  _ shitting _ me! It really  _ was _ a screw!” Hank exclaims loudly, barking out a laugh and picking it up before Connor can reach for it. He scowls in the general direction of the man, hoping to subject the offending piece of metal to it all the same. “This is gonna go into a frame or something!”

Connor rolls his eyes, the last bit of suspension leaving his body. He feels drained all of the sudden.

“I would like to leave the tub now. Can you help me, please?” He says, hoping to get another chance to enjoy another physical encounter with the man before Connor has to keep out of Hank’s little bubble of  _ personal space  _ once again.

“I do think I even have a small frame somewhere. Maybe upstairs in the attic!”

“Hank!  _ Please! _ ” Connor pouts, standing up but slips almost immediately afterwards with a squeak. A hand catches him by his biceps before he can fall, holding him up as a towel is thrown over his head.

“Alright, hold your horses Mr. I-don’t-need-your-help.”

He is hoisted out the slippery tub, pressed against Hank’s chest and arms around his back, before carefully placed down onto the tiled bathroom floor. Connor’s arms have involuntarily come around the man’s neck at the action, and they stay there even when he has gained his balance, and so do Hank’s. That very specific note remains, dancing around his olfactory receptors, emitting steadily form Hank and telling the Deviant that he isn’t as calm as he makes it look, hormones still boiling beneath his skin.

Connor looks up, tilting his back, calculated, to look Hank in the eyes. The moment has become charged again, this time however with something different than simple pheromones. He  _ wanted _ . He wanted to  _ kiss _ the man. To kiss  _ Hank _ . But could he, really? What were the repercussions? How would he react?

Hank let out a sigh, arms slowly releasing Connor from their hold. Connor let his arms fall back to his sides, woefully noting that he might have missed his chance to find out.

“I’m- I really need some fresh air. You’re gonna be alright from here on, right?” Hank asks, stepping further away from the android.

“Yes…” Connor answers truthfully, if reluctant. “Thank you, Hank.”

“Yeah, no worries.” the man rasps and clears his throat. “I’m just gonna take Sumo for another walk. Be back in a few!”

Soon the front door closes, with Connor still standing in the bathroom, dripping wet with a towel around his shoulders, thinking about all the possible scenarios that could have evolved from that moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your nice comments! XXX 
> 
> Here, have some horny alpha!!

He had fled the scene, evacuated the building, rushed to the closest exist with his tail between his legs. Just slipped into his shoes, barked at Sumo to follow who had been confused as hell but happily obliged when he caught up that they’d go out for a third walk that day – and that had been it. He’d even forgotten his  _ jacket _ , but had quickly realized that the unshielded cold of the night helped getting rid of his raging boner. The fresh air had swept away the last remnants of the beckoning scent, having left him brooding while he walked down the abandoned street, alone with his thoughts. Some of the heat concentrate had clung to his fingertips, having spilled over his digits as the tube had broken between them, forcing him to keep his hands far, far away from his nose.

He _hates_ losing control. He’s always condemned those knothead _assholes_ who couldn’t keep their hands off omegas just because they smelled nice. Like that is some kind of stupid invitation to grope and ignore the omega’s protests and struggles. And now look at him. He had had _training_ for situations like this, for god’s sake! Part of his training as a cop!  And yet, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off the kid, because of some synthetic scent! The raw _need_ and _want_ he hadn’t experienced in _years_ had erupted inside of him, had caught him completely off guard. Seeing Connor on his couch, his sweatpants the only piece of clothing on his slender frame, those stupid, big brown eyes ripped wide open and mouth slack, smelling like _omega_ _in heat_. And afterwards, in the bathroom, the soft mewls and whines that had emerged from the android’s slack lips, eyes half lidded, on his hands and knees close to _presenting_ – holy _fuck_. Hank had _really_ considered simply finding himself some ramshackle of a house that were spread plenty around this area and spend the night there, teach his inner alpha a lesson and wallow in shame alone.

Instead, he had manned up. Well. In the sense that he’d finally dragged his feet up his porch after an hour or so, frozen to the bone, had made sure that Connor was alright and had everything he needed, before hiding in his bedroom to forget that that even happened.

Hank knows exactly how to handle this predicament. He simply does what he does best, with everything that bothers him as of lately. Sweep it under a figurative carpet, take turn and never look back. Granted, it has always bitten him in the ass eventually, but oh well. Another problem added to the pile isn’t much in the grand scheme of things. And if it means keeping the kid around, he will gladly accept that. His little crush on the android be damned. Nothing had to change, right?

\---

He feels like  _ shit _ the next morning. Like, fallen into a meat grinder  _ thrice _ before being rolled over by a bulldozer  _ shit _ . Must be bad karma. His skin is itchy, his throat sore and dry and he feels overall sweaty. He lets out a low groan, rubbing his eyes and already plotting excuses he could tell Fowler to convince him that he couldn’t come in today. Except, Connor would also have to stay at home. He couldn’t exactly drive without seeing where he‘s going. And even if he could, Hank supposes the kid would probably stay at home anyway. Fuzzing around, making sure that he would recover quickly. Hank wants to be annoyed, but he isn’t, he can’t. Instead, he smiles stupidly at the dark ceiling like a lovesick idiot, a pleasant warmth coiling through his heart. He was so  _ screwed _ . Pun intended.

A warm shower helps somewhat, even when he has to force his thoughts to other places so he wouldn’t picture what had transpired in this very room the night prior. Instead, he concentrates on cleaning himself almost clinically and even plays with the thought of shaving. He still can’t get rid of the lingering scent clinging stubbornly to his hands however. Like some of the substance is stuck beneath his fingernails but no matter how hard and thorough he scrubs them, the alluring scent of sweet omega persists. He gives up with a sigh when it begins to hurt and turns off the water, deciding that shaving isn’t worth the effort. The itchy feeling is back as soon as he steps out the tub. He lets out an annoyed growl, scowling at himself in the mirror. Something is nagging at the back of his mind, like he knows what all this means, but just can’t figure it out. Eventually, he just shrugs it off and shuffles with a towel around his hips back to his bedroom to get dressed. As always, Connor had already taken the opportunity to grab his outfit for the day while Hank was in the shower and looks as perfect as ever in his well-fitted suit, sitting in his usual spot at the round kitchen table when Hank eventually enters the kitchen.

“Good morning, Lieutenant. Coffee should be ready.” Connor greets him, always the chipper one.  “You should eat something before we leave.”

“Might grab something on the way…” Hank mumbles, not bothering to hide his yawn as he grabs the can of beautiful, dark liquid and pours himself a cup, completely missing Connor lift his head to scent the air. “I see you’ve finally figured out how to operate this thing in your current state, huh?” Hank asks conversationally. Seconds tick by and Hank holds his breath when no answer comes. He thinks the bomb is about to drop, that Connor will now, definitely, inevitably put him into his place for his behavior last night. But when he risks a glance over his shoulder, the android is still only sitting there on his chair, frowning down at the table with his LED whirring yellow.

“Connor...?”

His light switches back to blue and he goes on as if he hasn’t just caused the older man a mini heart attack. “Yes. It would be much easier if you would decide to buy one of the newer models. I wouldn’t have to use my hands then.” He smiles in Hank’s direction, his gaze only missing him by a few inches.

_ Aaalright _ . Hank takes his out when he gets one.

“I’m not letting some Siri assistant steal me the satisfaction of making my own coffee.” Hank protests.

“Well, no. But  _ I _ would make the coffee since I could connect to it.”

“So you’d be my Siri then?” Hank smirks, sipping at his coffee, letting the caffeinated drink scorching his throat calm his nerves and mind.

“I’m- I’m not going to be your  _ Siri _ , Hank. But if we extend the-”

“Siri, would you kindly bring me some sugar for my coffee?” Hank says, trying to hold in his laughter at the indignant look on the androids face.

Connor scowls. “You don’t even  _ like  _ sugar in your coffee!”

“Siri, hasn’t anyone told you yet not to talk back to your owner?”

At the sight of Connor literally throwing his hands in the air like  _ fuck it, I’m outta _ here before standing up and getting ready to leave was the most  _ hilarious  _ thing he’d ever seen the kid do as of yet. Hank has no bloody idea where or from whom he’d copied it from, but it rips a full-on belly laugh out of him. Hank thinks it’s ridiculous how something as small as a simple gesture can fill him to the brim with joy and warm fuzziness while simultaneously feeling like the least deserving man on earth.

“I’m waiting in the car, Lieutenant.” Connor says as he stomps toward the door defiantly, not able to see the giant, creamy-brown mass of fur laying between him and the door.

“Connor, wait-” Hank tries to warn him but unable to form a proper sentence since laughter continues to bubble out his body intermittently. “There’s-”

The yelp that escapes the Deviant and the resulting crash had Hank literally roll on the floor laughing.

\---

He always feels bad when he has to leave Connor back at the precinct, knowing all too well how he thrives out on the field. Connor can get quite cranky when he doesn’t have something to do or doesn’t feel useful, which is stupid, but the android can be a stubborn bastard. Nonetheless, the amount of research he’s been doing turns out to be incredibly useful. Hank would call him should he need some information on a current case and Connor the encyclopedia would give him his best guess only seconds later. And the  _ paperwork  _ he’s been doing. Hank could kiss him for saving him from that alone.

However, Hank feels like the kid needs some action after five days behind the desk and Reed’s constant razzing. That’s why he’s collected some samples from the current crime scene he’s been at all day – a robbery turned lethal with the suspect on the run – for Connor to have a lick at. Yes, Hank has to agree that the Deviant’s realtime-whatever is quite awesome. No, he still can’t watch him do it without grimacing. But Connor could give him results in seconds whereas the Lab can maybe do it within twenty-four hours on good days. Talk about efficiency on the job.

So when he passes the reception, past the security gate and the itch under his skin carefully pushed to the back of his mind, even humming some low jazz tune, nothing could have prepared him for finding Connor crowded against the wall with no other than Gavin-fucking-Reed barking in his face. Connor looks almost bored, brows pulled together in a soft frown while he lets Reed rant on with a broad, nasty grin and arms flaring wildly around him. A switch turns somewhere in Hank’s brain, he thinks he can even hear it. A soft  _ click _ and one moment he is standing stunned just past the entrance and in the next he has the slightly smaller Detective pinned to the large room divider opposite of where he had harassed Connor. Hank’s throat vibrates with the dangerous growl and he bares his teeth threateningly.

“What the  _ fuck  _ do you think are you doing, Reed?!” Hank snarls, not caring to keep his voice down. He would even welcome the audience. He keeps his arm pressed against the man’s upper body, not quite to his throat but just a slight move would ensure just that.

“Me? Fuck off, Anderson! Who the hell has puked into your breakfast this morning?!” Reed snarls but stops his struggling when Hank applies even more pressure, leaning his body into his hold, inching his forearm ever so slightly towards the man’s throat.

Hank leans in, mouth close to Reed’s ear. “You leave Connor alone, you understand me? If I see you posturing like the sorry excuse of an alpha you are  _ ever again _ ...” he leaves the ending open, counting on the Detective’s imagination to picture the worst of it. He hears the man swallow.

_ “Anderson!" _ , Fowler bellows through the open space, the man standing on the small platform to his office. “What the hell is going on there?”

Hank’s leans back, keeping the Detective in place just a little longer, the stench of alpha aggression palpable in the air around them. They stare at each other, long and unfaltering. A fight of will, of dominance, exchanging low growls until Reed eventually, wisely, averts his eyes. The Lieutenant let’s him go then, taking a step back to raise a hand in his former classmates’ direction.

“Nothin’. We’re done for today.”

He doesn’t spare Gavin another glance when he grabs the wide-eyed android by his wrist and leads them outside. He’s sweating profusely now, buckets of it and he can feel the shirt cling uncomfortably to his skin underneath his jacket. He’s still growling lowly, can’t for the life of him stop it. Connor is following him without protest which Hank is glad for. He wouldn’t even know how to explain his behavior, only able to blame it on his stupid alpha instincts. Like Connor needed any protection, he scoffs to himself. Even blind the Deviant can be lethal, doesn’t need a protector.  _ Definitely _ not one in the form of an old, burned-out loser like him, way past his prime-time. His heart clenches painfully, but it helps to finally let go of Connor’s wrist when they eventually make it to his car. He gets into the driver’s seat, not daring to even take a quick peek at the android beside him, dreading what he might see. No. Instead, jaw set, he fiddles the keys into the ignition and pulls onto the street.

The silence during the ride is almost unbearable. He knows that Connor wants answers, answers Hank can’t provide. He gives kudos to the Deviant though to have gained enough tact to keep his mouth shut. Hank doesn’t want to snap at him, but for all he knows he might, as agitated as he is right now. But Connor is learning, and a small bundle of pride swells inside of Hank. The Deviant has come so far. It keeps his mind occupied for the rest of the distance, quietly comparing the android that had shown up at Johnny’s one night with the man sitting beside him right then. He’s still greatly irritated when he eventually parks the car in the driveway, and he doesn’t immediately know what to do when he shuts off the engine. He stares at the large garage door he rarely ever uses to actually park his car inside, listening to the soft crackling of the cooling engine. He hears Connor shift in his seat, feels the android looking at him. The sudden urge to apologize suddenly pushes to the forefront of his mind. He doesn’t know exactly what he wants to apologize for – maybe for stepping into a situation Connor could’ve easily handled on his own, or maybe just in general for being stuck on this path with him. He considers voicing just that, but Connor beats him to it.

“Hank…”

A single word that has so much meaning. Too much for Hank to handle, so he flees once again. He’s out the car before the Deviant has a chance to continue whatever he wanted to say. He goes around the front, still very aware of Connor’s temporary disability, and opens the passenger door.

“C’mon, let’s get inside. It’s quite cold out here…” Hank lies and gently guides Connor out of the car by his biceps before locking the vehicle. With a hand on the smaller back he guides Connor up the porch and to the front door like he’s been doing for the past few days. Sumo is already whining impatiently behind the door, overjoyed that his owners have returned. Hank squeezes inside first and nudges Sumo away from the door, growling warningly at the large breed. He seems to get the hint and backs of, backing off somewhat and tilting his head confusedly at Hank’s reaction, continuing to whine ever so softly. The older man closes the door behind Connor as soon as he’s in, shrugging off his jacket to hang it onto the wardrobe beside the door.

He desperately needed a shower. His forehead was gleaming with sweat and he felt hot all over. A soft hand lays on his arm, like a cool touch on a hot summer day and Hank looks up at the android unthinkingly, just in time to witness Connor doing the unthinkable – he leans back against the front door, loosens his tie and pops the first few buttons of his shirt all the while Hank couldn’t do more than stare, before tilting his head to the side and  _ baring his throat _ . How could Hank possible not take the invitation? An offering so enticing, so  _ irresistible _ , calling to a need he has tried to stomp down for some time now whenever he all but glanced in the android’s general direction.

He has his nose pressed against the delicate curve in a matter of seconds, nostrils flaring and mouth hanging half open, nosing away the offending shirt until he finds the spot where the scent glands are – synthetic or not. He wrings his arms tight around the slightly smaller form. His throat rumbles in approval, his conscious mind having gone offline at the first whiff of  _ sweet omega _ and  _ home _ and  _ comfort _ , seeping into him, claiming him, fueling the fire inside.

“Hank…” Connor whispers, the slender fingers clinging to his back, pressing him closer.

Hank doesn’t know why he deserves this, why Connor is giving this to him. Why he doesn’t try to run away when Hank pulls him closer, presses their bodies flush, rather than making the most delicious sounds. The older man’s tongue is quick to lap at the sensitive spot of the Deviant’s neck, licking up the synthetic aroma, groaning at the taste that makes his taste buds explode with its sweetness. Connor doesn’t smell aroused, nor frightened or really anything. His scent doesn’t give away any hint of emotion but rather stayed the same, beckoning him in.

The voice at the back of his head grows louder, screaming at him however muffled when he clamps his teeth down to the soft flesh – not hard enough to draw blood but enough to leave behind a distinct imprint of his set. He wants to mark him, wants to rub his own scent into each and every inch of his omega’s milky soft skin. So perfect for him. Slender fingers stroke through the long strands of his hair, massaging his scalp and Hank lets out a low purr before the hand gently tugs his head back from the omega’s neck.

“Hank, will you listen to me? Please?”

He would do anything for his omega, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it. He would rather bury his face back into the source of sweetness, but he forces himself to listen, blinking away the daze he’s in.

“What is it?” he rumbles. He doesn’t think his voice will ever go back to normal and he would just have to live with the gravelly sound that now comes out of his mouth whenever he says something.

Just as Connor takes a breath and parts his lips does the voice in his head finally become intelligible, and they speak in union.

“You’re in rut.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, guys, your are AMAZING!! Thank you all for your nice comments!!! And here I let you wait a whole week for the next chapter! I'm sorry! But I had to actually split this chapter in two since it kinda got out of hand, haha. Have the first while I proofread the second!

Hank is in rut. The Deviant has noticed a change in his scent this morning, and the blatant show of dominance and almost feral aggression towards Detective Reed had only proven his theory. Protecting his omega, a role Connor knows the man – unconsciously or not – has applied to him.

He doesn’t know if Hank is aware of his current state, and he had to calm down the agitated alpha first before he could further investigate his assessment. The omega scent he has released helped with that, successfully drawing the Lieutenant’s thoughts to him and away from the fight earlier; the stench of alpha aggression slowly subsiding that made Connor’s nose itch unpleasantly. In its stead emerged the distinct smell of arousal and heated  _ want _ .

_ You’re in rut. _

Connor patiently waits for a response, letting his system neutralize the omega scent now that Hank appears to have calmed. He listens to the sound of Hank’s slightly labored breath, concentrates on the large hands still on his back, keeping him in place. It takes the older man a while, the rut evidently clouding his mind, making it hard for him to grasp a clear thought when mating hormones flood his entire body.

“I can’t be…” Hank rumbles. “I can’t be in rut. I haven’t had one in  _ years _ .”

Connor frowns at the new piece of information.

“When was you last rut?”

“I… I don’t remember.” Hank grumbles and Connor threads his hand through the silvery strands in encouragement. He leans into the touch with a low purr, but it’s cut off abruptly. “I think it was before… before-”

“I understand...” the Deviant hushes soothingly when Hank’s scent starts to turn sour. The unspoken words  _ Before Cole’s death _ hang heavily suggested between them.

“I need you to do something for me, Hank. Can you do that?”

“Of course…anything.” he breathes, and Connor doesn’t doubt that one bit. He knows the power he currently has over the alpha and it sends a thrill through his body.

“Can you bring me something sharp, please? Like a needle, or a pin?”

He can smell the confusion, can hear the low growl of uncertainty but Hank eventually obliges, if with great reluctance. With cupboards and drawers being thrown open soundly in the kitchen accompanied by the loud clatter of cutlery and other contents, Connor shuffles over to the worn couch. He briefly wonders where Sumo has wandered off to, careful not to be tripped  _ again _ , when he hears heavy footsteps reproach.

“Here… Lucky you I actually own a sewing kit. That ok?” Hank mumbles, and gently puts something thin and hard in between his fingers.

Connor carefully traces the utensil from bottom to top until he can feel the sharp tip of it. “Yes, thank you, Hank.” he smiles softly. “Please sit down and give me your hand.” he requests further, holding open his free hand in offer. He hears the couch creak under the weight as Hank throws himself down and soon after there’s a large hand placed into his. It’s warm, and Connor indulges in the feeling of warm skin against his before he continues.

“What are you doing?” Hank asks, voice laced with curiosity, most likely watching Connor squeeze the underside of his index finger. “Also, we should probably call Markus. He can take care of you while I wait this out-  _ Ow!” _

A quick prick with the needle is all Connor needs before the utensil is carefully tossed onto the table behind him afterwards. Then he leans in.

“What the  _ fuck _ Connor-!” but Hank stops his protest to suck in a sharp breath as Connor closes his eyes and licks off the small bead of blood that has gathered at the tip. His system immediately starts analyzing the sample. It doesn’t take long for the state-of-the-art prototype to break down the ferrous fluid into its components – in fact only milliseconds – but apparently long enough for Hank to grab him by his hips and swiftly pull him into his lap. The dangerous growl reverberating through the room when the man presses his face back to the android’s neck and the teeth he can once again feel against his skin make him freeze and hold his breath in anticipation.

“You should really be careful what you’re doing….!” the alpha rumbles, growling steadily and Connor can even feel the vibration where he is pressed flush against the man’s chest.

“I’m sorry…” Connor breathes and swallows, unsure what may have caused this reaction, “but I needed a blood sample to test your hormone level. Experiencing a rut after a long period without can be dangerous for some. However, it appears that yours is a rather mild one-” he gasps and his system stutters when large hands grab his buttocks and  _ squeeze _ while the man simultaneously bucks up his hips, pressing the rather  _ distinctive _ bulge in his pants against Connor with a low groan. Connor’s LED whirrs yellow hurriedly, indicating the overload of new sensations his software is trying to process all at once. His fingers dig into the man’s shoulders, trying to hold onto  _ something _ .

“Always teasing me, pretty omega... And I bet you don’t even know what you are doing to me…!” Hank murmurs, nipping and licking at the by now rather sensitive spot while continuing to grind their groins together.

Connor can feel a heat rise inside of him, a flame in his abdomen growing bigger and bigger the longer he lets the alpha simply do what he wants. He’s tempted. Tempted to just let things go however the man pleases, whatever the rut burning under his skin is telling him. The Deviant wishes for nothing more than to give in, but he wouldn’t. He’s not sure how Hank feels about him, about the aspect of something  _ beyond _ friendship – not even after months – and engaging in any sexual activity may endanger everything.

“I’m not an omega...” Connor reminds him, panting softly.

“I know.” Hank answers, placing small kisses just below his ear before nipping sharply. “You don’t need to be an omega to be perfect. Perfect little android…”

_ Those words _ . A jolt surges through him, a surprised moan escaping his lips which Hank answers with an encouraging purr.

“And so many pretty noises, all mine…”

The finger pushing against his entrance through his pants rips him out of his daze. He stops the hand with one of his own, pressing his forehead against Hank’s.

“Hank, please focus… can you answer me something? Please?” They need to clear up their heads, which may be difficult; the air is heavy with alpha rut and arousal. If Connor had been human, he would’ve added his own share, letting Hank know just how much he’s affected by it all, how badly he  _ wants _ .

“Of course, anything for you.”

Hank continues to trace his mouth along his shoulder, leaving behind small licks and nips however moving his hand away and instead letting it trace the length of Connor’s thigh.

“What’s five times twelve?” the Deviant inquires.

“What…?” Hank mumbles confused but doesn’t let up yet.

“What’s five times twelve?” Connor repeats, applying pressure to where his hand is still resting against Hank’s shoulder, trying to make him back off a bit. Not in demand, but  _ suggestion _ . He doesn’t want to rile the alpha up, just calm him down. Adding at least  _ some _ space between them may be beneficial. “Can you answer me that?”

The older man grumbles but leans back, one hand still tracing the seam of his jeans and the other resting on his hip.

“Sixty…” Hank answers, sounding unsure and still mighty confused. Connor smiles at him.

“Correct. Good. What’s the capital of Canada?”

“Connor, what the fuck?”

“What’s the capital of Canada?  _ Please  _ answer me, Hank.”

“Ottawa, alright…! What’s up with those stupid questions?” Hank grouses and Connor can almost hear the pout. He wishes he could also see it.

“I needed to get your attention. You’re still in rut.”

“Well,  _ duh _ .”

Connor sighs. “I don’t want us to continue when you are not able to consent. I don’t want to take advantage of you, nor risk the possibility of you subsequently rejecting our friendship.” He explains with a heavy heart, but he knows it’s the right thing to do.

“Wha-”

“However, your rut should only last another sixteen to eighteen hours, approximately.”

“Hold up-”

“Until then I leave the decision to you if I should leave or stay.”

_ “Hold the fucking phone, Connor!” _

Connor frowns, now being the one confused. “Phone...?”

“What do you mean ‘take advantage’?  _ I’m _ the one humping you here!” Hank barks embarrassed, and they’re both acutely aware of the clothed erection still poking at Connor.

“Yes. Because you’re in rut. But since you haven’t acknowledged any of my advances as of yet, there’s no indication for me that you’d actually want anything remotely intimate outside of your rut.”

_ “Advances?!” _ Hank squeaks, his voice getting higher and higher the longer the conversation goes on, with his fingers digging into Connor’s skin. “What advances?!”

The Deviant fiddles with one of Hank’s button of his shirt distractedly, somehow feeling like he’s stepped into another social misunderstanding.

“Like making you coffee.” Connor mumbles, hesitant to spill the whole story at once.

“You make coffee for  _ Reed! _ ”

“Yes.” Connor purses his lips, unseeing eyes dropping down to his fingers. “But I make sure to not include any sugar since you don’t like it, and let the coffee cool down to the perfect drinkable temperature before offering it to you. Reed wants two sugar for his, but I put in either one or three. Never two. Today I even added salt instead of sugar. You have seen the result.”

There’s a stretched silence. He imagines Hank staring at him, however he can’t decide what expression the man would be wearing. He could be shocked with his eyes wide and mouth hanging open, or maybe disgusted – possibly just confused. His scent doesn’t tell him much either as it fluctuates between a variety of emotions, too quick for him to grasp.

The body underneath him begins to shake, and suddenly he’s being pulled against the man’s chest once again, Hank’s face pressed into his shoulder and strong arms around him holding him in place. He can hear soft noises but can’t decide if Hank is crying or laughing. Connor furrows his brows.

“Hank…?” he asks unsure.

“You-” Hank hiccups.  _ Definitely _ laughing. “Oh my god Connor, you’re just so precious! I can’t believe-” he’s interrupted by his own laughter, muffled by the Deviant’s shirt. Maybe Hank is also crying.

“I don’t find this particularly funny, Hank. The results of my research-”

Hank leans back. “Your  _ research _ ?! Please, enlighten me on your research! What did you do? Read song lyrics?”

Hank makes it sound as if that’s a bad thing. Connor’s pout grows.

“In my defense, around eighty percent-”

Hank barks out another laugh, shaking them both and forcing Connor to hold onto the man as to not fall off his lap.

_ “Around eighty percent” _ he presses, “of all songs circle around the topic of human relationships or the meaning of love.”

The Deviant feels victorious when Hank’s sudden burst of amusements ebbs down to the occasional chuckle.

“Holy shit, Connor… and you picked the one telling you to show it in the subtlest way possible?”

“I have picked recent occurrences saying that love is shown in details.”

“Wait, isn’t that a quote from that one commercial-”

Ignoring his comment, Connor looks back up, hoping to find Hank’s ice-blue orbs. He traces the line of Hank’s throat with his thumb where smooth skin turns to rough, stubbly beard.

“I heard that making one’s coffee just the way they like it is one way to show love. Another is to hang up their coat before you’re asked to do it, or being there when things are tough. There are many more.”

He feels the muscles contract when Hank swallows, can feel his pulse having picked up when he brushes over his pulse point.

“That’s why you’ve been so adamant to master the coffee machine even though you’re currently blind?”

Connor doesn’t answer.

“Let me tell you a secret then.” Hank croaks, his voice sounding slightly strained. “Humans are dumb when it comes to love.  _ Especially _ men. You would have to write it in bold letters for them to understand.”

“But I don’t have a pen right now...” Connor says, hushed, still rubbing circles into his skin.

“Well, the only other logical way to make it unmistakably clear would be using your voice, right…?” Hank replies, just as hushed.

Connor pauses, bites his lip before opening his mouth and whispers:

“I love you, Hank.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: Hank, what is love?
> 
> Hank: Baby don't hurt me.
> 
> Connor: What?
> 
> Hank: What?


	4. Chapter 4

Hank surges forward, capturing the android’s lips with his own as his scent all but  _ explodes _ . Connor is being sucked in, swallowed whole – he clings to Hank, just like the man clings to him, needing support so they don’t get swept away by it all. Connor has read that a human’s scent changes when they’re in love, that it becomes enriched by another nuance. And it’s  _ there _ . Now that Hank’s scent isn’t muted but rather laid  _ bare  _ in all its glory, all-consuming, unobstructed.  _ It’s there. _

“You love me…” Connor breathes against the man’s lips in wonderment, amazed; he can’t help the grin that spreads on his lips.

“You have no idea how much I do…” Hank rumbles back, and Connor yelps in surprise when he’s being flung around and pressed with his back into the upholstery of the worn couch. Their lips meet again and Connor is already addicted to the soft drag of Hank’s tongue on his lower lip and the rough scratch of his beard. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do or how things work, but he does so eagerly. He pulls Hank closer, the man on top and perched between his spread legs.

“You love me, you really do…” he murmurs in between kisses, he can’t believe his luck, or that the solution to his month-long predicament, his fruitless courting, were three simple words. He’s feels giddy, he feels high – light-weighted, like he’s floating. He can’t think straight, only that he wants to get impossibly closer to Hank. When said man guides his head, tilting it to the side so their mouths could slot together perfectly, he moans into it. He can feel Hank’s own sounds of approval, the soft vibration where they’re pressed chest to chest. Their tongues swirl together; Hank’s hands are everywhere on his body. At some point his shirt has been pulled out his pants, the rough drag of calloused fingers underneath hot on his skin, leaving behind scorched trails. A loud moan rips out his throat when Hank pinches one of his curiously sensitive nipples and he throws back his head, digging his fingers into the flesh of the man’s shoulders. Hank’s rut leaves a distinctive taste behind on his tongue as he sucks in a breath, reminding him of one last issue.

“Hank- Hank wait..!”

Hank grunts in question against the android’s throat where he’s leaving behind a trail of soft nips and kisses, sucking on the skin as if to leave a mark.

“You’re still in rut... “ he pants. “I don’t want you to regret this later-”

“I  _ definitely  _ won’t, I can promise you that – unless you don’t want to?” Hank asks, stopping his ministrations for the time being, soft puffs palpable on his cheeks from Hank’s ragged breath.

“No, I also would very much like to have intercourse with you,” Hank snorts, “but I’m not sure if your rut doesn’t just make you say those things.” he says honestly, and Hank groans. He leans his forehead against the Deviant’s shoulder.

“ _ Fuck. _ If you want, you can ask me another of your random questions if it helps, if that shows you that I’m not just saying this because of my rut.”

Connor hums in thought, stroking one hand through Hank’s hair absentmindedly. It should suffice.

“What do you call an atom that has more protons than electrons?” he eventually asks, blinking up at Hank.

“What-.. I-..!” Hank stammers, thinks some more, then stammers on, “I don’t know!  _ I don’t know! _ ” He sounds so desperate.

Something strange bubbles up, making Connor’s body tremble and shake until he realizes belatedly that he’s laughing. He’s never laughed before, not like this- open mouthed with his head thrown back but the whole situation has already led to many new experiences. He can only imagine what’s more to discover.

“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you! You’re really bloody  _ daring  _ to fuck with me right now! Oh, I’m gonna show you…!” Hank growls and dives back down, nipping at his collarbone before going even lower, unbuttoning the rest of Connor’s dress shirt on the way.

Connor doesn’t stop, can’t stop – wave after wave escaping his lungs before it’s cut off by a choked off moan when Hank’s hot mouth presses against the outline of his erection he hasn’t even noticed having. But Hank doesn’t relent. He mouths and licks, dampening the fabric, while deft fingers work on his buckle and fly, tugging off each and every piece of clothing below his waist impatiently. It isn’t long before Connor gasps in surprise when a hot heat engulfs his leaking member in one go. His moans are loud in the otherwise silent room, the wet drag of Hank’s lips around him as the man bobs his head up and down, not giving Connor a chance to get used to the mind-blowing sensation. All he can do is hold onto the unruly strands where his hands are still buried in Hank’s mop of hair. Hank’s hands roam up as far as they can go before escaping back down, guiding one of the android’s legs over his shoulder so one hand can dive even lower, a thick digit experimentally circling his entrance. Connor has just enough control between moans and gasps to activate his self-lubrication protocol and Hank lets out a surprised rumble, the vibration driving Connor go almost  _ insane _ . He thrashes his head from side to side, everything feels like it’s too much and not enough, with the tongue dragging up and down his erection, over his sensitive slit, the scorching wet heat of Hank’s mouth – and when the teasing finger finally enters, he simply loses it. He comes hard, his body goes taut and he’s screaming, spilling his water-based release down Hank’s throat.

His system sputters warnings, his body overheating and unable to cool down, his pump regulator working in overdrive. He ignores them in favor of slumping back into the soft cushions below him, raking his fingers lazily over the man’s scalp as he tries to figure out where up and where down is; his LED humming a contented red. He hears a wet slurp when Hank finally releases his softening member, already twitching in anticipation of what’s more to come.

He’s being scooped up into strong arms and he tries to support his weight with shaky arms and legs around the man who whispers sweet endearments and praise into his ear. The android drags the tip of his nose over Hank’s scent glands, licks up the heavy musk protruding off them and moans at the taste. From one moment to the next, he finds himself on his back again, the soft dip of the mattress below him and the feeling of Hank’s blanket under his palms confirms that they’ve arrived in the bedroom. He hears Hank shuffle around, probably getting rid of his own clothes, so Connor takes the opportunity to also rid himself of the remaining pieces, for once not caring to fold them and instead flinging them off to the side. He rolls over and crawls further to the center of the bed before slumping down, rear up, presenting for his alpha somewhere behind him. The guttural groan he hears in response lets goosebumps erupt over his body.

“So beautiful, so precious…” the mattress dips with Hank’s weight, and Connor gasps when large hands pull his cheeks apart. An appreciative hum is all the warning he gets before a hot, wet tongue laps at his hole, sucking up the synthetic lubricant. Connor can’t do more than whine and mewl at the sensation, his cock already hard and leaking again.

“Hank please…” he whines, clawing at the blanket when the tongue is replaced by something way thicker. He moans, a finger once again burying itself into his channel, but it’s still not enough. “Hank, I don’t need –  _ ah _ – I don’t require preparation. You can’t hurt me. I’m ready!  _ Please! _ ”

Hank swears but relents, his restraint finally snapping.

“Bossy android,” he growls, and the way he talks makes it clear that his rut has taken over anew, “teasing me all day, then begging me so prettily to fuck you…” The rugged beard scratches pleasantly when Hank bends over and places small pecks up and along his spine, draping himself over the android from behind. Skin on skin, nothing in between them with Hank’s hard length slotted between his cheeks. The man above him groans at the contact, thrusting his hips forwards and coating himself with the synthetic slick that’s now running out of the Deviant in copious amounts, trickling down his thighs. He can only feel and hear what’s happening, letting the sensation paint pictures in his mind. He concentrates on the drag of their bodies, the sounds of enjoyment coming from Hank’s mouth. A warm palm presses down onto the back of his neck, over his sensitive port and  _ squeezes _ . With a gasp he goes pliant; he can’t do anything about it when his arms give out underneath him. If it weren’t for Hank’s other hand to keep him steady on his waist, he would’ve slumped into himself completely.

“So good for me... “ Hank purrs, drawing back just enough to position himself, before pressing in slowly.

Just as predicted, his body gives way easily, welcoming the hard, thick cock without complaint. The drag inside of him feels strange, new. Not bad, but nothing like Hank’s mouth on him earlier. Not yet anyways. The thumb runs soothing circles along his hairline with Hank kissing and sucking over his shoulder.

“So perfect, with that pretty blue blush of yours…” Hank mumbles when he’s fully sheathed. “Feeling so good around me.”

“Move, Hank, please…” Connor pants, squirming.

“So impatient… don’t wanna hurt you, little omega.”

“You can’t! Please Hank, you can’t hurt me-”

Hank doesn’t have to be told twice. He pulls back slowly with a low growl, until the tip is the only part still inside, before slamming forward. Connor yelps, having not expected the rough treatment but with the sparks that go flying inside of him he doesn’t protest. He gasps with each sharp snap of their hips, the pace increasing gradually, clinging to the sheets when Hank rolls his hips  _ just so  _ and hits something deep inside him that make his eyes roll back into his head.

Soon he is a moaning, whining mess – mouth hanging open wide, with Hank adding his own low rumble or grunt to the mix. The older man’s hand leaves his neck in favor of grabbing him by his hips with both hands, pulling him into each thrust where he’s being fucked hard and fast, Hank’s single-minded need to  _ mark _ and  _ breed _ taking over. By now Connor’s vocabulary has shrunken down to only the man’s name, repeating it like a mantra in between moans and pants. He can feel the swell of Hank’s knot, tugging at his rim with each smack, telling him that the man is close and the long, hard thrust turn to short, pointed snaps. Suddenly sharp teeth pierce his skin; Hank’s jaw clamping down just where a mating bite would go. His system notifies him of a thirium breach, but all Connor can come up with is a silent scream of pleasure, mouth hanging open wide. He feels the knot slot into place and lock them together when Hank comes with a long groan, pressing them flush together. It’s too much for the android, too much at once and he comes a second time, completely untouched.

He must’ve blacked out. A process starts up, informing him of a missing time of forty-five seconds. He’s still panting, trying to cool down his biocomponents from the overwhelmingly strenuous activity. An arm is curled around his middle and his sensors pick up soft puffs against his neck. They’re lying on their sides with Hank pressed to his back, legs tangled and still tied by the heavy knot nestled inside of him. Hank’s hips twitch and press closer intermittently with each new spurt while he continues to pepper every inch he can reach with small kisses.

“You okay…?” Hank rasps, voice rough. His hand trails up over the curve of his hips, up along his waist and shoulder before following the same path back down, fingertips barely touching his skin.

Connor feels like he is floating, his mind buzzing pleasantly and feeling overall oversensitive. In a very good way, he decides.

“I don’t know how to describe what I’m feeling right now…” he murmurs, tongue somehow heavy as lead.

“Is it good though…?” Hank inquires, concerned.

Connor turns his head and smiles lazily at him. “Very much so.”

The older man huffs out a laugh and leans over for a kiss which the Deviant is all too happy to reciprocate. The taste of thirium is a stark contrast to before, and he figures Hank must have smudges of it on his lips and tongue from where he’d bitten him.

“If I were a human, we would’ve mated...“  Connor says astonished, bringing up one hand to his neck where he can feel the small indents and the wet sensation of the blue fluid.

“For me, we have.” Hank says, peppering his cheek, temple, nose with more kisses. Connor grins, capturing the man’s mouth with his own again. It’s slow, languid, purely enjoying the moment. They kiss until Hank’s knot comes free, slipping out with a wet pop, come and slick quickly following. Connor doesn’t mind; probably one of the only messes he enjoys having before rolling over to properly slot their lips together. Hank hums appreciatively. The Deviant discovers that he loves the feeling of Hank’s beard against his fingertips.

“Should I use the omega scent next time?” Connor asks, the thought having popped up suddenly.

“Only if you want to.” Hank rumbles in response, brushing back the single lock that never wants to stay out of the android’s face.

“It may help with your rut. And it might help us form a scent bond, at least.”

“But you would be running around smelling like omega, right? Isn’t that like against your purpose or something?”

“If it means that I’m your omega, then I will gladly accept the sacrifice.” he smiles honestly, leaning in for another kiss, however missing by an inch and instead kissing the corner of his mouth. “And should there ever be a situation where I may have to change my scent, we would just have to renew the bond.” He smirks and Hank huffs a laugh, rubbing his calloused hand up and down the android’s back.

“I will gladly be at your service, then.” Hank smirks and Connor grins.

“Good.” If he didn’t know better, he’d think his body is being flushed with endorphins. Or maybe that’s just how love works. “I love you, Hank.”

“I love you too, Connor.”


	5. Epilogue

“Oi, look who’s finally been made an honest bitch!”  

Connor heaves a sigh. Honestly, he sometimes questions Reed's status as a Detective as said man appears to constantly hover on and around the precinct. He ignores him; knowing that the alpha is fishing for a reaction. Instead, and now that he can actually _see_ what he’s doing again, he focuses on pouring the caffeinated liquid from the coffeepot into one of Hank‘s favorite mugs. Why it is his favorite he doesn‘t know, but the older man has many favorite things for different reasons. Like the one mole on Connor‘s neck. It‘s not any different from the many others spread all over his body – not in his eyes anyway – but the man has deemed it special. The Deviant doesn‘t question it. It’s just one of many mysteries humans tend to have, but rather enjoys the attention Hank gives to it when they‘re intimate.

„Think you can get it right for once? _Two_ sugar? Not salt? I thought you were supposed to be good, but even a vending machine does a better job than you.“ Gavin scoffs.

Connor still doesn‘t acknowledge the pesky human who‘s now casually leaning with his arms crossed beside him against the counter of the small police department’s kitchen. Instead, he puts the pot back into its place. He can‘t, however, ignore the theft of the mug. Gavin smirks mockingly and takes a sip of _Hank‘s_ coffee, in spite of it not containing any sweeteners.

„This is not for you.“ Connor says calmly, facing the man in defeat. His LED turns yellow.

“Now it is. What’cha gonna do about it? Beep at me aggressively? Or call for your alpha boyfriend like a good little omega?” Gavin laughs, obviously hinting at the omega scent he’s still wearing, and which is mixed with Hank’s own. Connor has enough.

“Listen Detective,” Connor starts, voice dropping an octave while he purposely releases the heavy musk of _alpha_.

He steps closer – way into Reed's personal space – until they’re standing almost nose to nose. One of Gavin’s brow rises but the broad smirk doesn’t falter – not before his nostrils flare when he picks up the scent. He furrows his brows in confusion.

“I know that you’re currently struggling with your case. Captain Fowler has informed me of the situation. And I know that you’re probably quite _cranky_ , as the Lieutenant would put it, because you’re getting a partner to help you on it.” By now, Gavin’s smirk has completely vanished and instead is glaring daggers at the android, but Connor doesn’t care. He’s always trying his best to make friends with everyone, but Detective Reed is a prime example of individual incompatibility. “And you know what?”

Gavin doesn't answer but increases the intensity of his glare with gritted teeth and a growl.

“ _I_ was the one to choose your partner. He’s an _android_ , but I’m sure you already know that. So I want you to behave and be nice to him. Because if you don’t...” he tilts his head, letting the threat be implied just like Hank had done the other time.

Connor looks Gavin over before fixing him with a look. They stare at each other, unblinking, another fight of will. Connor can smell the aggression radiating off the alpha, but there’s also a thin layer of hurt hidden beneath. Maybe the Detective isn’t just compensating for something with his posturing and obnoxious behavior; maybe there’s more like there’s been with Hank – but it isn’t his place to find out. He takes the mug out of Reed’s hands without the man’s protest, keeping their eyes locked until Gavin, once again, breaks first.

“Fuck off, asshole! Fucking _freak!!_ ” he snarls and shoves Connor to the side, stomping away with his hackles raised but not without having the last word. “I won’t let any plastic prick tell me what to do! And I will certainly not let you fuckers take away my job! So why don’t you tell your little tin can friend to _go fuck himself_ , because I don’t need him! I got this!” And then he’s gone, leaving behind a trail of pissed-off alpha stench that makes Connor want to sneeze.

Connor blinks to where the Detective has been just a moment ago, then down onto his now ruined dress shirt and jeans. The coffee has spilled over when Gavin had pushed him, now decorating his front with a light-brown stain in the form of a heart. Or a cat’s head. Connor isn’t sure. He sighs but smiles in victory of having rescued Hank’s favorite mug. He makes quick work of refilling and cleaning the ceramic container before making his way back to Hank.

He finds said man slumped onto the surface of his desk, head buried in his folded arms. He peeks up when Connor places the coffee beside him, somehow looking like he’s just woken up despite having driven them here.

“Thanks…” he mumbles, then freezes just before his fingers touch the hot surface of the mug. He stares at the coffee, then up at Connor, his eyes crinkling at the corners and a close-to dopey grin spreading on his lips. The Deviant smiles, a soft, blue blush painting his cheeks, but is distracted by the cooling stain just above his belt. Hank follows his look and raises his brows.

“‘That to do with Reed storming off like a prissy sissy?”

Connor doesn’t know what exactly a ‘prissy sissy’ is supposed to be, but he nods nonetheless. “I have voiced my displeasure with his behavior.” He replies distractedly, going around his own desk to pick out his spare change of clothes from the lowest drawer. The Deviant always keeps a fresh change there, and it has proven useful on many occasions.

“You should’a told me. Would’ve loved to watch…” Hank chuckles roughly, taking a soundly sip of the dark liquid. Then there’s a sharp intake of air, closely followed by explosive coughing. Connor stands back up with his clothes pressed to his check, looking worriedly over at his lover.

“Are you alright, Hank?”

The man holds up a finger, signaling him to wait as he tries to catch his breath, half bend over.

“Just- coffee. God _damn_ …” he wheezes between coughs and puffs. “Is that _you?!_ ” Ice-blue orbs fix him with a stare.

“Is what me?”

“That scent!”

“Oh. You mean the alpha one?” Hank nods, still coughing occasionally, face slightly red from it. Connor purses his lips. He thought he had given his neutralizer enough time to work but apparently he’s been mistaken. “Yes. I’m sorry, but I needed to make some things clear to the Detective. Is it appalling to you?” The Deviant asks, honestly curious.

“No- I mean, it just surprised me. ‘s all.” Hank breathes, having finally regained his composure. ‘Surprise’ is an understatement for the blatant _interest_ coming from the older man, not only showing in the obvious way he’s eying him up and down but also transpired in his scent.

Interesting.

“I will go change now. I won’t be long.” Connor announces, filing the new piece of information away for later. For now they’ve got a job to do. He passes by their desks and heads for the men’s when he hears Hank scramble up to follow.

“I come with! ’m gonna make sure everything fits!”

“I can assure you, there’s no need for that, Lieutenant. I’ve worn this pair of jeans and shirt many times.” He says over his shoulder.  
  
“You can never be sure, y’know. Washing machines are _vicious!”_ Hank grins, hot on his heels. It becomes quite clear that Hank has no intentions of seeing if the clothes fit rather than ridding him of his current outfit as soon as they’re locked up in a stall, sure that no one else is around. Connor doesn’t complain, quite the contrary. However, he makes them stay late for the time they’ve spent their working hours not actually working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooohhh! \o/ It’s done!
> 
> Again, thank you guys SO MUCH for your nice comments! You’re INCREDIBLE!!  
> I hope you all had a nice and cheerful Chrismas - and for you who don't celebrate Christmas, I hope you still had some relaxing days!
> 
> I wanted to try something new in many ways. Writing style, tenses, even the universe AKA A/B/O since I’m a huge fan. It does pretty much look like it’s been a success!
> 
> I wasn’t sure if the description would still fit at the end of the story since I actually hadn’t planned on having Hank go into rut but OH WELL. Things happened and I just went with it.
> 
> I also just recently joined [tumblr](https://miaamaay.tumblr.com/) (possibly the worst timing with all the flagging and stuff but what can you do). So say hi!


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